Behind the Lies
by Silver Moonmist
Summary: So. Harry died, leaving behind the world of magic in uproar. Who knew that not only did this cause the rising of evil, but uncovering many deadly truths...
1. Author's Notes

Author's Note:  
  
~Important - please read~  
  
Alright, so I was a little behind in updating. But my SAT/ACT CD here is beckoning to me and calling me a "silly little girl". *Flies begin to swarm around "SAT/ACT prep: The Prinction Review".* The first half of the new chapter is up.   
  
~~I know my 'chapters' seem intimidating, but please, just break it down in sections. I am trying hard to mimic an actual novel, so of course it is updated novel-sized. Please do read it - you've gotten this far, reading all of this boring crap, so I assure you that my story is more interesting than my disclaimers.~~  
  
Yes, now comes the all famous disclaimer. I might go to London, and grow a little taller, and become a little more well-known, but my passport still says I'm not J.K. Rowling. She, however, doesn't own Selena, which we all know is more famous than Harry ^_~  
  
A few things about the background of the story's settings, skip it at your own peril...  
  
I am in contact with someone who gave me several comments. I would like to clear them beforehand. There are many holes in my fanfic, but it will be explained. As far as grammar and spelling, I did my best, but we all know that Microsoft Word never works as it should. The language is a bit formal, but these are 7th years talking, and Selena is very dark, so she doesn't use much slang. I give credit for Selena's name to Alexandra Hudson, one of my best buddies. She has always given much advice, being a wonderful writer. There seems like there isn't much direction given, but that is very good, as a first impression. If you think this way, that is purely my intention. This is rather suspenseful, in a way. Enough ranting.  
  
On with reading. 


	2. Prologue

~~Prologue~~

I took a deep breath, afraid to stop, afraid of my own voice. What had I just said? I had poured my life out, the secret life kept so voicelessly quiet, in a few tumbled paragraphs, my thoughts so confused. Yet, I can recite it clearly, as if the days of my much suffered the same as I.

I stole a quick, guilty glance at Ginny. She was entrenched - truly entrenched this time - in my story. She looked as if she was still listening, listening to a voice unheard; harking to the bells that tolled for the unknown. Her face was firmly intent, lips slightly parted.

"Why," she whispered, her voice a whimsical replica of ghosts.

The trees around me were black shapes, slightly darker than the deep blue of the night. They waved and swayed, sighing the same question in my ears. There was fluttering of birds...bats, perhaps, scorning at my ridiculous stance. I shook my head slowly, hoping the nocturnal sounds would stop.

"I had no choice," I began my chant again. "I met a seer, one that was actually mournfully accurate, as opposed to our dear Divination teacher. She was hobbling old, bent from age, burdened with wisdom. I was at the corner of Diagon Alley, about to approach Knockturn Alley, when a melody pierced the air. I turned around to face a beautiful lady, dressed in blue from head to toe. She stopped singing when I clapped my eyes on her."

---

I eyed her with a certain amount of curiosity.

"You are Selena," she said, keenly skimming my wand.

"Well guessed," I retorted coldly. "And you are - ?"

She paused dramatically, hoping I would succumb to her majestic air.  

"I go by many descriptions, but alas, I have no name. Why is a third-year like you treading upon such a dangerous street?"

I could have scoffed at her remark. _Dangerous_? I never really learned the true meaning of danger. I don't even know if I've been in a dangerous situation. 

"That is purely my decision."

"I had long thought the paws rescued you from a great and terrible fall...but of course, I could be wrong..."

Slightly perturbed by this statement, I showed signs of surprise, but made no effort to still the flash across my face.

She lifted her gloved hand to fix her bonnet. Rather abruptly, she began to speak, her voice rising and falling like a swift river.

"I was personally acquainted with your aunt, Selena. A wonderful person, she was. Politely accompanied by your uncle. She has left behind a family inheritance, and by her personality, I would believe it is your turn to possess this fortune..."

"That object is long lost; a woman like you should know."

"It is still upon the surface of this earth," she responded effortlessly and dully. Some part of her voice hinted monotony like droning text in schoolbooks, but yet another suggested this was earth-shaking news, something long mistaken now found again... "...sacredly preserved, that is. However, it has turned its sheen away from you - feeling that you were too close to the Dark Lord. You must make a sacrifice, before your hands are clean enough to touch its face. Are you willing?"

Someone far away started to scream, and for an instant, I was afraid that it was my own voice. But no, it was too wildly inhuman...

I turned to face the almost desolate street, my tiny, pathetic robes faintly rustling a brusque farewell to the lady. My head was backed away, but I continued to stare at her, my eyes boring into hers. I felt a mutual fate burdened upon my shoulders, delivered by this strange woman.

"No."

So long had I believed that this was merely a jewel with a particular glow, enchanting and mind numbing. So long have I been told that I would one day possess it to do my heart's wishes. But now, the touch of it was denied to me, and I am forced to banish the original thought from my mind. 

How angry I am! I refused to accept this definition. How dare the jewel refuse me after all these years I was told that I will take it into my keeping, until my death! Now, I must make a sacrifice...

I started to walk away, to leave her standing there, gaping at my exit. But instead, she replied to my defiance with dignity, uttering six powerful words.

"Strong enough to destroy your master?"

I stopped, but did not turn around. The words burned in my head, hurting, gnawing at me to admit that I surely was the one. But I refused to do so.

Finally, she knew that I wanted her to go on, but did not have the strength to tell her.

"The Emerald. Its power originated from The Dark Lord himself. Fortunately, it was forever banished from him by his miscalculations. Now, you must be the wielder - that is, of course, if you are willing. The sacrifice is simple enough. The life of your most beloved."

The scream in the distance grew louder, most hysterical, until it reached a shivering shriek. Suddenly - it died. It was no longer there; peace was restored in the atmosphere.

_I have no beloved. I thought. I __will never possess it, then. _

Bitter resentment flowed through me. The lady. She was the one who brought this news, tolling on like a doom-ringer. How much I wanted her to vanish from my invisible sight; The Emerald to go with her. They both never would have existed, and I would be contently satisfied. 

Unexpectedly, a shock went through me. 

I do have a beloved. Most beloved, the only beloved I know.

Sirius.

---

All colour was flushed out of Ginny. She looked as if a tube had been injected into her and was slowly withdrawing all life and wonder. A hapless collection of bones and flesh, I decided. No longer human.

A single tear faltered down her pale cheeks, something I thought never would be possible. 

Did she scream? Was she the voice that was somehow implanted in my memory, as I was telling my story? 

One look from her was all I needed. How could I have not noticed - she did.

Poor Ginny.

She wanted to know more, why I cannot say. She has a noticeable trait of storing sorrow, even prior to Harry's death. Now, with my added weight, she is starting to stumble, but still she trudges on, wanting to test her limit.

Again, I felt myself unable to contain the words that trailed out of my mouth. I have told her this far; I must not stop here. Better to complete my story than to weep over parts of it. An overwhelming desire to speak the memories took over me, and the dimly lit room blazed in front of my eyes once more. 

---

I was harshly chained by invisible bounds, tightly choked against the coarse pole. My back was pressed to feel every splinter on the cursed wood, and my head was uselessly resisting the vindictive hold. I watched in silent horror at the shadowy figure bent over another, more irregular shape. He was stroking the animal with affection, and the other hand offered an odd variety of food. 

Buckbeak was thoroughly enjoying both the meal and attention. I struggled again, and this time, the person lifted his head.

An odd look spread over his face, perhaps recalling futilely the younger days of mischief and happiness. It was indescribable; a mixture of pity, harshness, wit, and sarcasm, sprinkled with courage. He knew well enough what he was doing. Still he pretends.  

"Dogs are thought to be obedient. Whoever told you that a dog form would suit your animagi taste is an asshole."

How bitter I was! He is approaching his final hours, and still I swear sardonically, instead of offering comfort and encouragement. I knew I was not going to make any difference to his attitude. But in the empty hole that resides in my heart, somewhere lost in the soul I bear, I found no encouragement at all to give. I could not say that it is alright to die, and it would benefit all living things. The sacrifice is not worth it.

He did not answer. He returned busily to look after Buckbeak, and I pulled back a tear that dangerously wobbled at the rim of my eye. The last preparations he did, the tender touch to everyone he would miss...

He was always one step ahead of me, trained by the days of his marauder life. Always plan, careful, meticulous, in case the candies don't go off correctly, have a backup...and the years in Azkaban taught him how hideous society of magic was, the harsh world, trickery and darker ways...

When alas he broke it, so gently to me that he has seen the lady in blue, the ghastly scene unraveled. He chained me quickly, before I could move, and my wand he laid inches away from my grasp. He told me of his plan – the mind of Voldemort, the seemingly harmless veil – his voice was heard, but I didn't hear anything at all. Finally, there was silence, and I stared coldly at him.

Suddenly, the door slammed open, signifying Snape's magnificent entrance. Does Severus know? Suicide and not blunder? 

I shut out the world, the noises from Buckbeak, the muttering lies of Kreacher, and the groans of the patched floor when I settle my dangling feet with effort. I closed out everything, all senses, and locked myself in the body I inhabit. Concentrating, I searched in for any flaw or hole in the binding spell. But it was in vain – he was too talented for even me. Everywhere, I faced rejection. 

He was walking away from the hippogriff after a last hug, and started to descend the stairs. He made no movement to fare me goodbye, but I did not need it. There was mutual understanding between us; we knew it was over. With a click of his shoes, I was released, and started to tumble my way blindly downstairs. I thought I saw Remus, a brief flash of his blonde hair and sympathetic eyes, but that must have been a hallucination. Just to calm myself, I gave a last, desperate scream.

"Moony! Moony! Padfoot has gone mad! He is going to kill himself..."

The words were drowned in an apparent grumpy smash of the door. I hurled myself to it, grappling its handle. But it was charmed. I dashed upstairs again, retrieved my wand and came back. No spell I tried worked. Exhaustion finally swept over my shivering body, which was covered with cold sweat.

I shuddered, and went into a haze. Somewhere remote I heard Kreacher snickering.

---

Pulled reluctantly back to reality, I saw myself trembling...

Someone was approaching us, and to keep solitude, we dashed through a tall thicket of bushes. Running was a mechanical, undirected way of occupying my mind after the reliving of my trauma. Ginny was much doing the same, deftly avoiding thorns and stickers, clambering on aside me. In the blackness, my see-through-brown eyes caught a blinding flash. I turned around, and no one emerged. But I could feel a menace very near, brooding our weaknesses, musing when to strike.

Suddenly, a silver hooded...

_Dementor_.

Right at the precise, wondrous moment, a dementor _must_ present itself in front of us. The luck we have when I just finished telling perhaps the saddest story ever recorded in memory. Our brains were washed, soaked, drenched with melancholy and weariness, and the sole creature that preys on sadness appears. I didn't dare look at Ginny, but I knew she was much thinking the same. Poor, poor Ginny. It must have been harder for her, to hear my story, driven by curiosity. I already knew the content in my life, yet she had to suffer through suspenseful moments and terrible description – but now she knows, and now, she can help me with the ultimate errand that is the center of all my woes...

I felt my fingers gripping around my wand.

"_Expecto__Patronus_..."

God damn me – how weak I was! My feeble words drained the last of its frail energy, thinning out into pathetic nothingness. 

Think – happiness! _Think_! Think about schooling and the milky plants under midnight stars and Aunt Lydia – no. 

_No_, not Aunt Lydia. 

Not schooling either. No happiness was found in the way I was bottle up somewhere nice and hidden, the way I never had any chance to make friends, and the way I was treated like I didn't exist.

Not milky plants under midnight stars; I had never validly seen that. I never saw healthy plants, let a lone milky plants wave at the dark night above. Plants, perhaps, but they were near rotting, ill-fed, and gave off a disgusting stench.  

"_Selena_." 

The cold voices mocked me, numbing my flesh and bone. There was shattering chill in this upbringing heat – a whispering chill that clutched your soul, and threatening to never let go. We were already weak – wouldn't it be better if I could just lie down and sleep...

Immediately, I felt like the sky was falling – piece by piece. What happened? Why are all the pigments of color frizzling and falling out of order? 

_Them_. 

They are tearing it up, the heavens are collapsing – they are destroying, destroying! Everywhere their voices echoed, ripping away life and warmth; crystals hung from my clothes, ice clung onto my face.

No!

_No_. 

I must not fall asleep. They are taking away the only things left I admire and love. They are killing the scent of pungent flowers and shining sun, something that I haven't seen, but know somewhere they lay with open petals. They are robbing me of my last support, the very reason I want to live.

"_Expecto__Patronus_!"

The tip of my wand flared dangerously.

Ginny was happy – she always was. Every time Harry would come over to the Weasley's she would bubble with laughter and radiance, forever the glowing ball of energy in their family. 

What if Harry was still alive? Would she still sing for him, outmatching the competitive larks? Would she still flush madly when he smiled and said hello, give a wave or nod – even dance with her?

It was hard to image Harry alive again. Mere hours ago, Voldemort had obliterated him into void, and once again strung up his arrogant pose. It was a challenge, as he admitted it, but Harry is _dead_. It seemed like years before.

Distantly, I saw a black Labrador bound away from a girl to a Deatheater. The woman was slimmed to the bone, her face sunken and hollow, etched with poverty and detest. Forever she wore the look of an old hag, still yearning to by beautiful, saturated with perfume and make-up.

The dog knocked the woman down, and with a hiss she righted herself, hand shooting toward her wand.

"_Crucio_!" 

The dog froze in midair, his fur rippling the spell's effects. He attempted a bark, but failed as his jaw was clamped tight in pain.

The girl did not weep or cry, but she stood there, firmly looking at the Deatheater. Slowly she drew her own wand, pondering a spell.

"_Pellentium__Raystia_!"

Her decision proved a good one. But the woman growled, ducked and pointed, and the spell went awry.

"Release the dog," the child said. There was something odd about her tone - something insecure, immature. It took me a moment to realize it was the voice of an eight-year-old.  

"My Master wishes your presence," the woman replied, smoothly adjusting her robes.

"_Release_ the dog."

"My Lord wishes to discuss an important matter with you, Selena. He is a busy man, if I may suggest," she repeated.

"Release the_ dog_, and I will _come_."

The creature, still clenched together, made a noise – a half-whimper-half snarl, signifying disagreement. The girl seemed startled at this; she couldn't believe that he could utter any sound under the Cruciatus Curse...

"_Expecto Patronus_!" I yelled, jingling a harmonious chime of voices. The girl was in me again.

An elegant, silver sparrow suddenly shot out, diving and swooping to net the dementors in confusion. They shrieked at the sight of it, their throaty sounds darting another effort to tear the world apart. Within minutes their cries died down, sunk under the bird's muffled screech. All of them swiftly vanished. The sparrow struck thrice, swerved a gracious loop; and then faded away.

I felt myself topple backwards a little by my own force. It came so easily that I was beginning to doubt something, an oddity, a trick...

Subconsciously I picked out a tiny detail, and a heavy weight was dropped in my stomach. Quickly it evaporated into acid heat, and melted within my body. Pain seared through my limbs, and the burning required me to turn. 

Ginny was gone.


	3. One

~~One~~

Blindly I tore my way back, running until my legs screamed with protest and the acid in my body intensified. My eyes searched frantically for the familiar invitation of Hogwarts, and finally, with much meandering, locked my sight at the school. Never had I been so glad to see a place which I otherwise detested. With a last wild scurry, I entered.

There was an eye-of-the-hurricane silence. The tables were emptied, and no sign of teacher or pupil was visible. Then, I started to speak.

"Bring me the unknown, the end of time..." 

My reminiscence echoed loudly, but I heard only the bleak bouncing of meaningless words. 

"...when flowers start to wither, and skies tumble blackly, still we hold, hand-in-hand..."

_...friends forever after time._

Gingerly I started to walk again, treading carefully around, until I reached the Gryffindor portrait. 

The fat lady was still there, appearing to be preoccupied by something unseen. Her pink dress ruffled and swerved, but still she did not turn to look at me or make any significant gesture. I cleared my throat politely.

There was thick silence, but no reply, so I turned to go.

"Yes?"

I turned around again, and saw her staring at me, wide-awake.

Only then did I realize that I did not know the password, and a new one has probably been issued in the time I was gone. 

"Umm...I don't think I know..."

She continued to look at me, surveying my appearance as if checking my identity. 

"...the password..." I continued. "But will you please let me in?"

"I am afraid not," she answered gently.

"Surely you know who I am, do you? Selena. Selena Miryamme."

"I still need the password in order to let you pass," she persisted, curiously investigating me. I felt like an interesting plant species, especially an odd-looking carnivorous snapper in Herbiology under her look, and glanced at myself.

"Is there something wrong with me?"

"No dear. No..."

There was an embarrassing pause. 

"Are you – Selena Miryamme?"

I pondered this question. Was I? Of course not.

"Yes."

There was no disbelief, just emphasis. I really did not understand her purpose in this inquest; she has known me since I was eleven, and has seen me long enough. 

She blankly gazed at something farther away, and then quickly returned her attention to me. Suddenly, she blurted out a question, like it has been in her so long, tumbling, musing, and finally summoning up the courage to inquire – 

"Are you...afraid?"

It felt very odd being talked to by the lady. She never spoke to me, only nodded approval when I said the correct password, or occasionally, pleasantly smiled.

Do I fear?

_Bring me unknown, the end of time, when shadows devour, and warmth is stolen, still we hold, hand-in-hand, friends forever..._

 "Yes."

Her eyes looked graver after my response, sadly obscuring the shock and dismay that even I, who defied the Dark Lord this night, am fearful. 

"Why...do you fear the Dark?"

The vision of my determination carved in my figure as I stood on the edge of Knockturn Alley resurfaced in my mind. So young I was then! I do not believe I feared before. 

"Do _you not?"_

Her face was calm, but her voice gave way.

"I am but a portrait, and I can not lose anything..."

I forgot the ability to speak for a few seconds, and almost lost my composure. It was not right for a portrait to fish for pity. But she has it. Look, she took that away too...

"Alright," I said.

Her keen eyes continued to question.

I drew a deep breath.

"Well, I have been oppressed, and fear encasement."

"Really..."

Well, do you count nine years of enslavement? My teeth automatically gritted, and I held back a wave of anger and pain. 

"I understand dear...I fear encasement too...but, apparently...it's too late..."

She understands. Of course she does. Everyone understands how it is like to be tortured and used but not knowing it. 

"You see, dear, I am but a portrait. I seem to have forgotten the days when I was alive..."

I gave a nod, and decided it was time to leave before I unleashed my rage and scream. 

But the hole swung open as Hermione approached me and grabbed my hand before I protested. 

"I believe," she said, in a smaller-than-usual voice, "that we need to talk."

Without hesitation, which would have been my first gesture, I followed in quietly and gave a last, waning look at the fat lady, folding my robes a little. 

The lady looked back, rather forlornly; then she busied herself again in whatever she was doing. 

~~

There was no relief when I entered the uncommonly cold room of the boy's dormitory, and a few eager yet bitterly grim glances were cast from several people. 

There was Neville, of course, grown to be one of the most powerful wizards in the school, and the impishly scruffy Ron. Among the others were a few I could not recognize right away, but faintly know them as Sean and Dean, two boys who shared this room with Harry. Other unfamiliar faces swarmed around, waiting, waiting for...

Waiting for me. 

After a couple of moments given with silent consent, I slowly gathered myself back up, and faced Hermione, who was still not ready.

Finally she was able to look at me with reserved sharpness, as if I was under intense questioning about a terrible crime.

"As I have said," she began slowly, "we need to talk."

"We?"

My sardonic voice made it clear that I did not wish to talk to one person, let alone a whole group of strangers.

"Yes. We."

The crowd looked at me expectantly. With controlled temper, I turned to them.

"What."

A few stirred and glanced nervously at another. Apparently, they thought that Hermione had carefully explained things beforehand so that they would not be encountered with unpleasant job of raising their question.

Neville, who was the most restful, stepped forward.

"I want to know who you are," he said coldly.

I started to smile. 

Just a few years ago, he was regarded with contempt, underestimation, or unpopularity. Now, many aurors would rather not try to keep up with his mind, going into places best left untouched, and opening many others that have more philosophical than magical meaning. His brown-streaked blonde hair has grown considerably neater, yet naturally messy. His eyes showed understanding, but just as much sarcasm, while his lips usually never curved, except when those moments came when laughter engulfed us all.

Not many people notice him anymore, because he has become considerably quieter and darker, shedding his naïve, boyhood image.

Was that good?

Unable to restrain my unusually amused self, I returned with a stupid statement, "I want to know who you are." 

"Someone who wants to know who you are yet is replied by the same person with a query about his own ego."

I was puzzled. He was still cold, but he regarded this as a flirtatious game.

I suddenly remembered, remembered to be frightened, and Ginny was lost. I waved my eyes away, sullen because I lost the unsaid competition. Promptly I took a seat by Hermione, who was sitting on Ron's bed.

"I wish to inform you all, despite your gathering and demanding attitude, that Ginny is currently lost."

Quietly fold your hands and lay back, I told myself. But Ron leapt up at once, before I had a chance of restoration.

"No riddles, Selena. Where is she?"

My face showed no complexion, but I was forced to hold back guilty pain and anxiety. I am now their appointed leader, without my own permission. I must act like a stable lady. 

"In the hands of the Dark Lord," I replied.

Surprisingly, Ron did not go further as to approach me and attempt any strangulation, or fling himself onto the ceiling with rage and dismay. He merely stood, fixed with shock. 

The crowd was much thinking the same, looking at me more suspiciously, now not the leader, but the dangerous outcast.

"Are you, now, so interested in my chronological background?"

"Yes," Neville said decisively.

Ah, my unexplored friend. Penetrating any trap I have put? Suspecting a lie? Teetering your chess piece farther away, strategically, no? Suppose you did know about more than you thought about me. Am I the one who needs more barriers put in front of you, to not show any weaknesses?

I ignored him for the time being and resumed to feed more information. A pang of accusation momentarily choked me.

_You are cheap and fake, using Ginny as an excuse, so you can hide from rejection, my cynical Selena. Do you care at all about the well-being of your friend? And why did you run away, was it from fear, or driving madness to tell everyone her unpredictable and possibly lethal fate? _

If it was to tell, I decided, than I am not doing a good job. Quit sounding so pleasant, and show more of your shame.

"People do not just disappear, Selena," Hermione said, tone reasonably calm. "Are you sure the dementors were not just illusions?"

My heart skipped several beats.

"_What_?! I am dirty, tired, worried like the rest of you, you bring me a crowd of people expecting a elongated narration of my childhood, when the most logical thing to do was to sit down and plan _alone_ in this time of confusion, and now you accuse my of my credibility? I will have none of this, and may I remind you, you are not my master."

Hermione did not seem convinced, but maybe it is her way of shielding her flaws. Her eyes, however, were disloyal, and showed hurt apology.

"Very interesting," she selected her words cautiously, "how you say 'master' when it ought to be 'mistress'. I suspect you had one?"

"Yes," I breathed hotly, my nerves seething with trembling fatigue – or was it fatigue? "And if I did, it pertains nothing to Ginny or our endangered magical world. Are you surprised that Voldemort has not struck yet? Anyone in here intelligent enough to be concerned, or are there too many idiots in here?"

My words appeared to have an effect, and all of them switched their hopeful exuberance to tense pondering, flinching at the still rarely used name. 

I lowered my head to clear my mind, but saw immediately a hand reaching for my wrist. 

Neville pulled me away from the room, and I felt a rush of noises sweep by. Hermione had stood; I saw that from the corner of my eye. She will take over, I reassured myself. 

Presently I found myself in the Gryffindor common room, and faced in front of me was someone I should shield, lest he plays, and by seducing me.

"You are cold," he remarked, after letting go of my hand.

"I agree," I said.

"And you are bitter," he continued.

"I, coincidentally, have the same opinion."

"And you have been enslaved."

Then, I started to cry.

His hand dug into my shoulder, and I stopped to look away, toward the direction I ran from to get immediately to safety. Why did I run away? Was to that burst of adrenaline only out of fear? Until now, I have realized how cowardly I have become...

"Be careful," he whispered softly, and I became conscious that he was embracing me. "I can read your thoughts."

I made no motion to get out of the tightly comfortable hug. If it had been lighter times, people would accuse us of a secret affair. From the time Voldemort had succeeded his life-long dream to now, only a few hours passed. Am I the only one who feels that this time has passed too long but the events too fast and blurry? I cannot even keep track of how much action and arousing have been made since I fled from Hogwarts. But I am tired and weak, from running, from fighting, from anxiety, and, for the first time, I remembered that it was two in the morning. Of course my dizzied head couldn't race with the rest. 

How silly of me.

"I can read your thoughts too," I replied, muffled by his robe. And then I started to laugh and cry hysterically, a sound so alien and harsh, a wild and desperate cry of forgetting, remembering painfully, and then forgetting again.

I knew that I had run out of plans and schemes, and do not know what to do at all. 

~~

A glare dripped down and met my eyes. Only then did I realize I fell asleep, an awakened to face a drowsy, almost-slumbering Hermione. She mumbled about something, but I couldn't make out her words. 

"Neville...went...library..."

The sun was blaring now, and my eyes started to burn and water.

"Why?" 

She stirred, but did not answer, and breathed a little lighter. Her eyes started to open. 

 "More research..."

"Research?"

"A book..." she started.

"Yes?" I urged her to go the on, starting to feel the weariness and impatience I had borne much long ago.

"...hidden secrets about the Dark Lord..."

"And?" 

"It bleeds."

I jerked upright and remembered Ginny. 

"Ginny – " I began, but did not finish.

"What about Ginny...?"

I flinched and mouthed, "Lost."

"Oh!"

Hermione bolted, and struggled to get up to untangle her hair.

"And what book? Describe – " I made wild motions with my hands, recalling something importantly dangerous.

"It bleeds...the blood of the chosen. It has something to do with a certain Emerald, and was like a biography of Voldemort."

I started to panic.

"Black, leather-bound cover?"

"Yes."

"Bookmark also black, with a blue streak?"

She proceeded to nod, and unruffled her robe.

"Handwriting, not typed, and strikingly similar to a scrawl?"

"Yes," Hermione insisted, now looking at me. She paused for a moment as if she was trying hard to remember something. "Do you know anything about this book?"

"And you said it had to do with an Emerald?"

"As far as Neville has dug. He seems to know the database pretty well."

And this Emerald had immense power, correct?"

Suddenly, Hermione cocked her head, looking at me. It was one of her intelligent poses, like she had something very above-our-head to say.

"About last night..." she strained to remember, focusing amber eyes closer.

I began immediately to gather my things.

"I might as well go down to the library as well. See you later."

I turned around just in time to see her narrow her eyes and embark on protesting, but she swallowed her speech whole and left me to leave. 

*

My hand fastened onto the handle, but refused to turn. I only knew what my aunt had told me, and all she said was that the time had not come. 

And what is time to me? Must I wait patiently in line before the 'time' comes for me to know the truth about my past and future? If not a better time than now, I don't know when else. Someone is about to take over. But time doesn't care.

The door opened, and I was almost flung in.

It was the librarian. 

She regarded me gravely, ushered me inside, and pointed at speck in space.

"I assume you know those two people?"

I focused and blurred my eyes, finding a red and blonde blob shifting at a corner. 

"Yes."

"They mentioned your name quite a few times. I went over there to ask them what they are doing, but they didn't tell me. All they asked for was you."

"Alright."

"I suspect that Neville boy is up to no good. But you are granted permission to join them, if you are –" She started to choke, but I heard her quite clearly. "– quiet, of course. I-it's a library."

So she remembers. With that statement, she dropped her voice to a husky whisper, and I, for a moment, forgot to nod. 

I must be getting weaker. 

A few of a librarian's sentimental words and I break down.

I took long, deep strides, not even stopping to examine the curiously placed books that marked Dark Arts plainly over them. 

"Selena."

My name rang like a taboo.

How many times has it been uttered since Harry's death? Selena. Selena. Selena. I silently chanted the names to myself, and heard only the distinctive, forbidden ting of bitterness.

"Neville," I returned, bowing my head so that my hair slid down to the welcoming pull of gravity. 

"Selena," repeated Ron. 

The word hello is not allowed to be used again. The expression tolerates too much happiness.

"Ron."

"Did you sleep well?"

"I did not fall asleep."

"Neither did I."

We were so intent on hiding our shamefulness.

"I heard you were investigating about a specific book."

I smeared on the fakest smile I could conjure, but it only made my move seem too eager.

"Well, Neville is, at least. I just came and...and looked around, that's all."

_I see. You don't want to get into this mess either, eh? Wise move, wise move._

"Really?"

"Yes," Neville said, creating a barrier between Ron and I. _Scared I am going to murder your friend?_

"What have you found out?"

Neville stopped, looking at me.

"You could be very pretty, if you smiled."

"Don't evade my question," I snapped. But I meant to say, _you could be very pretty too, if _you_ smiled._

"A certain book on Voldemort. I had tabs put on whether he wrote it himself or not. But the style of this writing shows nothing, unfortunately. Apparently, the words in the book had a distinct connection to another inanimate object. This item, however, has a mind of its own. The Emerald of Light, I believe. Possessed by variously multiple people in and out of the bloodline."

I swore softly.

"You don't need to research. I know the whole story. You're wasting your time."

"Are you ready to open yourself to us?"

"Are you disappointed, my charismatic friend? How nice how you tied me down and trapped me. Now, I must, mustn't I?"

"So soon?" 

His eyes lighted with jeering triumph. _Taunting me. _

"I thought your childhood was a taboo," he said, looking nonchalant.

With that statement, I broke in a fury.

"I admitted – what more would you want from me? A taboo? I suppose your childhood wasn't then, according to you. I saw you're parents die. I saw Lily and James die too. I also saw Harry die, and how many more deaths would you like me to witness?" 

"You will observe many more deaths," he mused, predicting my break-down perfectly.

"I didn't know you to be a luster of morbidity."

Neville's face grew more intent.

"Then you don't know me very well. Over the year or two, I have changed. I also know that others noted on how I have become quiet and unseen. All _you_ need to know is this. Taboos are no longer in effect. The world out there –" 

– He pointed at the door – "doesn't care. There will be many more rules, Selena. If you don't adjust now, you will fail, as did Harry. Stop looking for pity. No one will pay attention to your cries now. They couldn't care less."

I was about to retort when I realize he was right. I had been seeking for comfort, when I was trying desperately to convince myself that fighting Voldemort was more important. Subconsciously or no, I was doing useless and stupid things.

~~


	4. 

Two

Blindly I tore my way back, running until my legs screamed with protest and the acid in my body intensified. My eyes searched frantically for the familiar invitation of Hogwarts, and finally, with much meandering, locked my sight at the school. Never had I been so glad to see a place which I otherwise detested. With a last wild scurry, I entered.

There was an eye-of-the-hurricane silence. The tables were emptied, and no sign of teacher or pupil was visible. Then, I started to speak.

"Bring me the unknown, the end of time..." 

My voice echoed loudly, but I heard only the bleak bouncing of meaningless words. 

"...when flowers start to wither, and skies tumble blackly, still we hold, hand-in-hand..."

_...friends forever after time._

Gingerly I started to walk again, treading carefully around, until I reached the Gryffindor portrait. 

The fat lady was still there, appearing to be preoccupied by something unseen. Her pink dress ruffled and swerved, but still she did not turn to look at me or make any significant gesture. I cleared my throat politely.

There was thick silence, but no reply, so I turned to go.

"Yes?"

I turned around again, and saw her staring at me, wide-awake.

Only then did I realize that I did not know the password, and a new one has probably been issued in the time I was gone. 

"Umm...I don't think I know..."

She continued to look at me, surveying my appearance as if checking my identity. 

"...the password..." I continued. "But will you please let me in?"

"I am afraid not," she answered gently.

"Surely you know who I am, do you? Selena. Selena Miryamme."

"I still need the password in order to let you pass," she persisted, curiously investigating me. I felt like an interesting plant species, especially an odd-looking carnivorous snapper in Herbiology under her look, and glanced at myself.

"Is there something wrong with me?"

"No dear. No..."

There was an embarrassing pause. 

"Are you – Selena Miryamme?"

I pondered this question. Was I? Of course not.

"Yes."

There was no disbelief, just emphasis. I really did not understand her purpose in this inquest; she has known me since I was eleven, and has seen me long enough. 

She blankly gazed at something farther away, and then quickly returned her attention to me. Suddenly, she blurted out a question, like it has been in her so long, tumbling, musing, and finally summoning up the courage to inquire – 

"Are you...afraid?"

It felt very odd being talked to by the lady. She never spoke to me, only nodded approval when I said the correct password, or occasionally, pleasantly smiled.

Do I fear?

_Bring me unknown, the end of time, when shadows devour, and warmth is stolen, still we hold, hand-in-hand, friends forever..._

"Yes."

Her eyes looked graver after my response, sadly obscuring the shock and dismay that even I, who defied the Dark Lord this night, am fearful. 

"Why...do you fear the Dark?"

The vision of my determination carved in my figure as I stood on the edge of Knockturn Alley resurfaced in my mind. So young I was then! I do not believe I feared before. 

"Do _you not?"_

Her face was calm, but her voice gave way.

"I am but a portrait, and I can not lose anything..."

I forgot the ability to speak for a few seconds, and almost lost my composure. It was not right for a portrait to fish for pity. But she has it. Look, she took that away too...

"Alright," I said.

Her keen eyes continued to question.

I drew a deep breath.

"Well, I have been oppressed, and fear encasement."

"Really..."

Well, do you count nine years of enslavement? My teeth automatically gritted, and I held back a wave of anger and pain. 

"I understand dear...I fear encasement too...but, apparently...it's too late..."

She understands. Of course she does. Everyone understands how it is like to be tortured and used but not knowing it. 

"You see, dear, I am but a portrait. I seem to have forgotten the days when I was alive..."

I gave a nod, and decided it was time to leave before I unleashed my rage and scream. 

But the hole swung open as Hermione approached me and grabbed my hand before I protested. 

"I believe," she said, in a smaller-than-usual voice, "that we need to talk."

Without hesitation, which would have been my first gesture, I followed in quietly and gave a last, waning look at the fat lady, folding my robes a little. 

The lady looked back, rather forlornly; then she busied herself again in whatever she was doing. 

~~

There was no relief when I entered the uncommonly cold room of the boy's dormitory, and a few eager yet bitterly grim glances were cast from several people. 

There was Neville, of course, grown to be one of the most powerful wizards in the school, and the impishly scruffy Ron. Among the others were a few I could not recognize right away, but faintly know them as Sean and Dean, two boys who shared this room with Harry. Other unfamiliar faces swarmed around, waiting, waiting for...

Waiting for me. 

After a couple of moments given with silent consent, I slowly gathered myself back up, and faced Hermione, who was still not ready.

Finally she was able to look at me with reserved sharpness, as if I was under intense questioning about a terrible crime.

"As I have said," she began slowly, "we need to talk."

"We?"

My sardonic voice made it clear that I did not wish to talk to one person, let alone a whole group of strangers.

"Yes. We."

The crowd looked at me expectantly. With controlled temper, I turned to them.

"What."

A few stirred and glanced nervously at another. Apparently, they thought that Hermione had carefully explained things beforehand so that they would not be encountered with unpleasant job of raising their question.

Neville, who was the most restful, stepped forward.

"I want to know who you are," he said coldly.

I started to smile. 

Just a few years ago, he was regarded with contempt, underestimation, or unpopularity. Now, many aurors would rather not try to keep up with his mind, going into places best left untouched, and opening many others that have more philosophical than magical meaning. His brown-streaked blonde hair has grown considerably neater, yet naturally messy. His eyes showed understanding, but just as much sarcasm, while his lips usually never curved, except when those moments came when laughter engulfed us all.

Not many people notice him anymore, because he has become considerably quieter and darker, shedding his naïve, boyhood image.

Was that good?

Unable to restrain my unusually amused self, I returned with a stupid statement, "I want to know who you are." 

"Someone who wants to know who you are yet is replied by the same person with a query about his own ego."

I was puzzled. He was still cold, but he regarded this as a flirtatious game.

I suddenly remembered to be frightened, and Ginny was lost. I waved my eyes away, sullen because I lost the unsaid competition. Promptly I took a seat by Hermione, who was sitting on Ron's bed.

"I wish to inform you all, despite your gathering and demanding attitude, that Ginny is currently lost."

Quietly fold your hands and lay back, I told myself. But Ron leapt up at once, before I had a chance of restoration.

"No riddles, Selena. Where is she?"

My face showed no complexion, but I was forced to hold back guilty pain and anxiety. I am now their appointed leader, without my own permission. I must act like a stable lady. 

"In the hands of the Dark Lord," I replied.

Surprisingly, Ron did not go further as to approach me and attempt any strangulation, or fling himself onto the ceiling with rage and dismay. He merely stood, fixed with shock. 

The crowd was much thinking the same, looking at me more suspiciously, now not the leader, but the dangerous outcast.

"Are you, now, so interested in my chronological background?"

"Yes," Neville said decisively.

Ah, my unexplored friend. Penetrating any trap I have put? Suspecting a lie? Teetering your chess piece farther away, strategically, no? Suppose you did know about more than you thought about me. Am I the one who needs more barriers put in front of you, to not show any weaknesses?

I ignored him for the time being and resumed to feed more information. A pang of accusation momentarily choked me.

_You are cheap and fake, using Ginny as an excuse, so you can hide from rejection, my cynical Selena. Do you care at all about the well-being of your friend? And why did you run away, was it from fear, or driving madness to tell everyone her unpredictable and possibly lethal fate? _

If it was to tell, I decided, than I am not doing a good job. Quit sounding so pleasant, and show more of your shame.

"People do not just disappear, Selena," Hermione said, tone reasonably calm. "Are you sure the dementors were not just illusions?"

My heart skipped several beats.

"_What_?! I am dirty, tired, worried like the rest of you, you bring me a crowd of people expecting a elongated narration of my childhood, when the most logical thing to do was to sit down and plan _alone_ in this time of confusion, and now you accuse my of my credibility? I will have none of this, and may I remind you, you are not my master."

Hermione did not seem convinced, but maybe it is her way of shielding her flaws. Her eyes, however, were disloyal, and showed hurt apology.

"Very interesting," she selected her words cautiously, "how you say 'master' when it ought to be 'mistress'. I suspect you had one?"

"Yes," I breathed hotly, my nerves seething with trembling fatigue – or was it fatigue? "And if I did, it pertains nothing to Ginny or our endangered magical world. Are you surprised that Voldemort has not struck yet? Anyone in here intelligent enough to be concerned, or are there too many idiots in here?"

My words appeared to have an effect, and all of them switched their hopeful exuberance to tense pondering, flinching at the still rarely used name. 

I lowered my head to clear my mind, but saw immediately a hand reaching for my wrist. 

Neville pulled me away from the room, and I felt a rush of noises sweep by. Hermione had stood; I saw that from the corner of my eye. She will take over, I reassured myself. 

Presently I found myself in the Gryffindor common room, and faced in front of me was someone I should shield, lest he plays, and by seducing me.

"You are cold," he remarked, after letting go of my hand.

"I agree," I said.

"And you are bitter," he continued.

"I, coincidentally, have the same opinion."

"And you have been enslaved."

Then, I started to cry.

His hand dug into my shoulder, and I stopped to look away, toward the direction I ran from to get immediately to safety. Why did I run away? Was to that burst of adrenaline only out of fear? Until now, I have realized how cowardly I have become...

"Be careful," he whispered softly, and I became conscious that he was embracing me. "I can read your thoughts."

I made no motion to get out of the tightly comfortable hug. If it had been lighter times, people would accuse us of a secret affair. From the time Voldemort had succeeded his life-long dream to now, only a few hours passed. Am I the only one who feels that this time has passed too long but the events too fast and blurry? I cannot even keep track of how much action and arousing have been made since I fled from Hogwarts. But I am tired and weak, from running, from fighting, from anxiety, and, for the first time, I remembered that it was two in the morning. Of course my dizzied head couldn't race with the rest. 

How silly of me.

"I can read your thoughts too," I replied, muffled by his robe. And then I started to laugh and cry hysterically, a sound so alien and harsh, a wild and desperate cry of forgetting, remembering painfully, and then forgetting again.

I knew that I had run out of plans and schemes, and do not know what to do at all. 

~~

A glare dripped down and met my eyes. Only then did I realize I fell asleep, an awakened to face a drowsy, almost-slumbering Hermione. She mumbled about something, but I couldn't make out her words. 

"Neville...went...library..."

The sun was blaring now, and my eyes started to burn and water.

"Why?" 

She stirred, but did not answer, and breathed a little lighter. Her eyes started to open. 

 "More research..."

"Research?"

"A book..." she started.

"Yes?" I urged her to go the on, starting to feel the weariness and impatience I had borne much long ago.

"...hidden secrets about the Dark Lord..."

"And?" 

"It bleeds."

I jerked upright and remembered Ginny. 

"Ginny – " I began, but did not finish.

"What about Ginny...?"

I flinched and mouthed, "Lost."

"Oh!"

Hermione bolted upright, and struggled to get up to untangle her hair.

"And what book? Describe – " I made wild motions with my hands, recalling something importantly dangerous.

"It bleeds...the blood of the chosen. It has something to do with a certain Emerald, and was like a biography of Voldemort."

I started to panic.

"Black, leather-bound cover?"

"Yes."

"Bookmark also black, with a blue streak?"

She proceeded to nod, and unruffled her robe.

"Handwriting, not typed, and strikingly similar to a scrawl?"

"Yes," Hermione insisted, now looking at me. She paused for a moment as if she was trying hard to remember something. "Do you know anything about this book?"

"And you said it had to do with an Emerald?"

"As far as Neville has dug. He seems to know the database pretty well."

"And this Emerald had immense power, correct?"

Suddenly, Hermione cocked her head, looking at me. It was one of her intelligent poses, like she had something very above-our-head to say.

"About last night..." she strained to remember, focusing amber eyes closer.

I began immediately to gather my things.

"I might as well go down to the library as well. See you later."

I turned around just in time to see her narrow her eyes and embark on protesting, but she swallowed her speech whole and left me to leave. 

*

My hand fastened onto the handle, but refused to turn. I only knew what my aunt had told me, and all she said was that the time had not come. 

And what is time to me? Must I wait patiently in line before the 'time' comes for me to know the truth about my past and future? If not a better time than now, I don't know when else. Someone is about to take over. But time doesn't care.

The door opened, and I was almost flung in.

It was the librarian. 

She regarded me gravely, ushered me inside, and pointed at speck in space.

"I assume you know those two people?"

I focused and blurred my eyes, finding a red and blonde blob shifting at a corner. 

"Yes."

"They mentioned your name quite a few times. I went over there to ask them what they are doing, but they didn't tell me. All they asked for was you."

"Alright."

"I suspect that Neville boy is up to no good. But you are granted permission to join them, if you are –" She started to choke, but I heard her quite clearly. "– quiet, of course. I-it's a library."

So she remembers. With that statement, she dropped her voice to a husky whisper, and I, for a moment, forgot to nod. 

I must be getting weaker. 

A few of a librarian's sentimental words and I break down.

I took long, deep strides, not even stopping to examine the curiously placed books that marked Dark Arts plainly over them. 

"Selena."

My name rang like a taboo.

How many times has it been uttered since Harry's death? Selena. Selena. Selena. I silently chanted the names to myself, and heard only the distinctive, forbidden ting of bitterness.

"Neville," I returned, bowing my head so that my hair slid down to the welcoming pull of gravity. 

"Selena," repeated Ron. 

The word hello is not allowed to be used again. The expression tolerates too much happiness.

"Ron."

"Did you sleep well?"

"I did not fall asleep."

"Neither did I."

We were so intent on hiding our shamefulness.

"I heard you were investigating about a specific book."

I smeared on the fakest smile I could conjure, but it only made my move seem too eager.

"Well, Neville is, at least. I just came and...and looked around, that's all."

_I see. You don't want to get into this mess either, eh? Wise move, wise move._

"Really?"

"Yes," Neville said, creating a barrier between Ron and I. _Scared I am going to murder your friend?_

"What have you found out?"

Neville stopped, and looked at me.

"You could be very pretty, if you smiled."

"Don't evade my question," I snapped. But I meant to say, _you could be very pretty too, if _you_ smiled._

"A certain book on Voldemort. I had tabs put on whether he wrote it himself or not. But the style of this writing shows nothing, unfortunately. Apparently, the words in the book had a distinct connection to another inanimate object. This item, however, has a mind of its own. The Emerald of Light, I believe. Possessed by variously multiple people in and out of the bloodline."

I swore softly.

"You don't need to research. I know the whole story. You're wasting your time."

"Are you ready to open yourself to us?"

"Are you disappointed, my charismatic friend? How nice how you tied me down and trapped me. Now, I must, mustn't I?"

"So soon?" 

His eyes lighted with jeering triumph. _Taunting me. _

"I thought your childhood was a taboo," he said, looking nonchalant.

With that statement, I broke in a fury.

"I admitted – what more would you want from me? A taboo? I suppose your childhood wasn't then, according to you. I saw you're parents die. I saw Lily and James die too. I also saw Harry die, and how many more deaths would you like me to witness?" 

"You will observe many more deaths," he mused, predicting my break-down perfectly.

"I didn't know you to be a luster of morbidity."

Neville's face grew more intent.

"Then you don't know me very well. Over the year or two, I have changed. I also know that others noted on how I have become quiet and unseen. All _you_ need to know is this. Taboos are no longer in effect. The world out there –" 

– He pointed at the door – "doesn't care. There will be many more rules, Selena. If you don't adjust now, you will fail, as did Harry. Stop looking for pity. No one will pay attention to your cries now. They couldn't care less."

I was about to retort when I realize he was right. I had been seeking for comfort, when I was trying desperately to convince myself that fighting Voldemort was more important. Subconsciously or no, I was doing useless and stupid things.

~~

A/N: That is all I can do for now. I'll update the next one quicker to compensate. 


	5. AN

More A/N: Sorry, I forgot to put this...my next update would probably be in November. I have a lot of things going on _...I'm about to die from homework, so until then, don't expect anything big. ;) Also, sorry for the two chapter fours and confusing one-two-three labels...I can't get fanfic to delete one of them...and can someone tell me, how do you get rid of those annoying spaces? 


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